Newest Angel
by Viscy Whiskey Poo
Summary: The story of the Phantom's apprentice. Cast aside when the young chorus singer Christine came along, she is driven to madness by her jealousy...


In the days of the late 19th Century France, no company of performers ever worked harder than those of the Opera Garnier, one of the most prestigious opera companies in the world.

On this cold winters eve, the opera house bustled with both performers and stagehands preparing for the opening of a new show. Carlotta, the current diva fussed and complained to the two mangers MM. Richard and Moncharmin, as a disgruntled ballerina, commonly referred to as a ballet rat, tossed a slipper at her.

In a not too distant corner, a shadow lurked in the darkness, eavesdropping on the discontent at hand. So in grossed in their petty complaints, no one noticed the glinting, cat-like eyes or heard the rustle of a twirling cape.

"Do you understand that I could throw you out of this opera house without a second thought?" Madame Giry, the resident ballet mistress reprimanded the chorus girl who had thrown the slipper. Madame Giry had been a part of the opera house for as long as anyone could remember. She lived for ballet and so did her young daughter, Meg, another resident ballet rat, with dreams of becoming a prima ballerina or better.

Giry did not tolerate rudeness or any unlady-like conduct, and hadn't screamed as loud as she had wanted as she started to lose her voice since this wasn't the first time she had screamed at the girl.

"Then do it? Throw me out," the young girl said in an insolent fashion as Carlotta cursed in the background.

"You must get rid of that... that...ugh!" Carlotta became exasperated since she couldn't think of an insult in either Spanish or French. "Dios mio…" she muttered. The pompous, overly made-up diva had grown used to the disrespect. She only concerned herself with having her name on the marquis or making sure it showed up at the top of the playbill.

Even more so since no one could rightly call La Sorelli a chorus girl; the prima ballerina proved to have just as much importance to the managers as Carlotta herself. This seemed like the norm, La Sorelli and Carlotta fought for the title of number one during every rehearsal and gala, which always ended with La Sorelli throwing something at the diva.

"Madame Giry! Do something, you have to teach that girl some manners" Firmin remarked. Firmin Richard, a tall thin fellow with a moustache, pushed back his dark, disheveled hair and wished to God that he and his business partner, Moncharmin had never bought the opera house or became the new mangers.

"We're losing money every time Carlotta refuses to go on" Moncharmin muttered in a low voice, but not low enough for Carlotta to miss. At this, she stormed off the stage and out of their lives for the next few hours. But, she would return; she enjoyed the limelight more than they loved money and lately she'd been missing too much of it.

A quiet voice seeped from the dark corner and beckoned for Anina's attention. Pretty little Anina Brigitte Dubois, skulked off to the side of chaos and wished for the day when she would reign as prima ballerina. Rehearsals always proved a waste of time when Carlotta and La Sorelli got involved. She did perfectly well on her own.

"Anina, go clean the boxes!" Madame Giry's stern voice shook her out of her thoughts and made her twist up her lovely dark hair into a tight bun. She hated cleaning the balconies or boxes. Usually the task went to one who neglected rehearsals or didn't do well in them. Lately, her mind dwelt on becoming a star ballerina and made her less than accurate in the dance routine.

The other girls snickered as they watched one of the most important dancers walk past them with rags and assorted cleaning solutions. By the time she reached Box 5, she almost had to crawl.

"You're insane! Do you realize I could injure myself doing this?" She yelled over the railing and tossed a bucket toward the stage, aiming for Madame Giry. Being accustomed to Anina's antics, the ballet mistress expertly stepped back.

"Get back to work!" came the reprimand.

As Anina plopped down on a chair in protest, she heard his voice. "Anina, I need to to dispose of Carlotta for the evening..."

She closed her eyes. "Sure, but I want _you_ to clean the boxes when I'm done."

"Don't be insolent! Come to me quickly!" whispered a soothing male voice.

Behind the seat Anina had chosen, a column opened and again the voice beckoned to her. Without hesitation, the young girl disappeared into the hollow column before it discreetly moved back into place.

* * *

The lair of the legendary Opera Ghost said to haunt the opera house, existed five cellars below the main floor. The air about his lake house always felt damp and cold, with the dank stench of wet decay.

The tall figure of a masked man cloaked in black, stood kissing and caressing the lovely Anina, as they stood in the doorway of the house. Gently, he pulled her inside where they would have more privacy, but no one would see or hear them anyway.

The disfigurement beneath the mask never turned Anina away from the man who kissed her passionately and tore away her clothes. His naked body felt warm. Something about his skeletal frame excited her while his lithe, boney hands excited every part of her they touched. When he made love to the girl in this world of endless night, all fears fled, and raw, unbridled passion took over. She belonged to him. She was a possession. She meant nothing to him and they both knew it.

Many nights like this ended with the resident spectre using her for his pleasure, but teaching her the skills of stealth and treachery as well.

He knew she wanted fame and riches and this he could help her attain, but the one thing he could never really give her, the one thing she desperately desired to have, his love. Craving her body and using her for his pleasure did not take the place of love. Love came when you least expected. It made you feel all warm and euphoric; it made you adore the person and want to abide with them forever! Erik, the Opera Ghost, had no such feeling for the young woman he made love to every night, all night. Since she seemed willing, regardless of her tender age of fifteen, he would suite his plans, his needs and in turn he would make her like him; a nocturnal creature who solved its problems with threats and bloodshed.

* * *

On the night of the performance, Carlotta caught a mysterious illness and her understudy had to take her place. Anina watched enviously as Christine triumphed as the new diva with Paris at her feet.

Squeezing through the throng of people who all wanted to meet Christine, Anina went outside for some fresh, cool night air. The rich patrons of the opera and their repulsive cigars disgusted her. As she stood in the frigid night air, amid flurries of snow, a thought came to mind. A way to attain the position of prima ballerina. It seemed all so simple. She should have thought of it before!

Erik might not approve. But if she just did it, what could he say? Perhaps he would even be proud of her!

La Sorelli stood behind the screen in her dressing room changing her clothes for tonight's gala, when a solemn, envy-ridden Anina burst through the door without a knock or an announcement.

"You little bitch! Get out of here and close that door. Who invited you into my dressing room?" snapped La Sorelli, slipping the sleek gown over her curvy, slender figure.

Anina stood defiantly, closing the door behind her quietly. No words passed between them. At first, La Sorelli thought this may be a joke inspired by the other ballet rats, but the young girl said nothing, looking daggers at her, which sent a shiver through her thin body.

"I said get out!" The prima ballerina raised her voice a little, as she stepped out from behind the screen. She made a mistake by turning her back on the evil child, to adjust her silky dark curls in the mirror, when a rather hefty, blunt object collided with the ballerina's delicate head and cracked open her skull. The body hit the floor with a gruesome thud. Blood oozed from the back of her broken head.

Anina stood over the body with the empty vase which once held flowers from an admiring fan. She had done it. Hard to believe it had been so easy. After staring at the lifeless body for some time, Anina carefully sat the vase upon the dresser, adjusted her dress and fiddled with her hair.

"Oh dear, she must have slipped and fell. How terrible…"

* * *

From the forgotten corridor of the opera house, Erik, the infamous Phantom, lurked quietly in the shadows watching Anina leave the dressing room of the late prima ballerina.

Quickly he snatched her up and melted into a trapdoor imbedded into a nearby wall. Here in the semi dark of the secret passageway, the resident spectre scolded his young protégé for killing without a reason.

"I wanted her dead and that's all. I am next in line for her position. Simple as that," stated Anina without remorse.

"You left behind a mess. Blood all over the place! Have I taught you nothing?" Erik grimaced beneath the mask. Anger welled up inside him. For years he had kept the opera house and its managers in the palm of his hand. An accident here and there; a threatening note or two per week; and death only if deemed absolutely necessary, but this was uncalled for.

"Don't you see? I _had_ to kill her. You took so long in keeping your promise; there was no other way."

Anina stared into those glowing golden orbs with wide-eyed innocence. She acted as though he accused her falsely and that nothing he said mattered. As he looked into those emotionless eyes, he realized she had no conscience, no soul, and no regret. Without a doubt he now looked in to the lipid pools of complete sadism.


End file.
